The rain washed the blood away
And for a time, I became human again
Children with dead eyes
Play amongst corpses rotting in the morning sun
A father prays to some god
Hoping for a miracle
Abound by his faith
Certainly a deeper faith than mine
For the moment, only the gun is god
In these quiet times
I think of people sitting at desks
Being productive
Dreaming dreams better than mine
Building a future
The survivor alarm kicks in
I've been here too long
The scene changes
The father has found his god
For a time, he becomes a soldier
Two gods about to collide
One through total frustration
The other with the dimension of time
He once read a book
The romance of war
He always thought the title should have read
The two faces of war
The bullet killed him instantly
Tomorrow, he would be another rotting corpse
No romance there
People at desks building futures
Children with dead eyes play in the morning sun.
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 23rd, 2025 06:55
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
A powerful write with a message sadly ignored
It is.
Dark and brutal this poem speaks in shadows of death and metaphor as well. Nicely crafted it speaks of a violent world.
Not a lot changed in the world.
Unfortunately so
Good write Paul. I've been going on about 'enemy nations' in some of my recent poems from the Old Testament.
I'll check them out.
Yep, you've checked 'em out!
Paul…this hits like shrapnel…the way you braid tenderness and horror makes the final image land with brutal clarity…stays with me. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thanks, Tristan.
Most welcome!
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